Remembering November 22, 1963

It’s coming up in about a week, and as always that causes me to look back to 1963. The event of November 22, 1963 was a watershed for people of my generation.  For years it was a conversation topic…what were you doing the day Kennedy died? I know for my part that day brings back memories every year when it comes around. Just as my folks could tell exactly how they heard about Pearl Harbor, I still have memories about those days that feel fresh after all these years.

That Friday started out sunny and pleasant in San Marcos Texas, just as it did in Dallas. For my friends, and me it was a special day we had been looking forward to with great anticipation. It was my senior year in high school, and this was Homecoming Day. That meant visitors on campus throughout the day, a pep rally in the afternoon, and the game that night followed by the big event, the Homecoming Dance. Just the night before we’d decorated the gym. Our theme was West Side Story and my best friend John had cooked up the idea of making a New York Skyline with purple lights shining from behind. John was Student Council President, and as always he displayed his flair for big projects. We were sure this was the best gym decorating ever. Back then former students could come on campus during school hours, see the school, and visit with former teachers.  My dad and all my uncles and my one aunt were San Marcos Rattlers, and sometimes they would come. This year I was hoping to see my uncle Lon. He was a favorite and I wanted to show off my boyfriend. This was before the time of security being a major concern on public school campuses. Charles Whitman would have been in high school too, and not on track yet to plan and carry out the first mass school shooting. Homecoming was one of the high school’s big events, and for seniors such as my friends and me, it was going to be even more special.  

Better yet, it was a day when little or no classwork got done. I was enjoying my prestige at being one of the helpers in the main office where we were handing out mums to the lucky girls whose dates had bought them and had them delivered from Smith’s Flowers. This was before the day of billboard sized artificial flower displays worn like sandwich boards. I got into this inner circle by going steady with the Senior Class President. It was fun finding the right mum for the right girl. Your mum would have your fella’s initials on it or, if he played football, his number. Some girls got a mum with a question mark on theirs, or maybe MD for “mom and dad.” Being without a mum to wear all afternoon was about the same as wearing a scarlet letter. I know because it had happened just the year before to me, sadly dateless for Homecoming. And look at me now, I thought. I’m giving out mums!

Suddenly one of the school secretaries rushed out of her office, where a TV was on for the President’s welcome in Dallas. There weren’t many TV’s on campus but of course they had one in the office. World Series were not to be missed entirely, as well as other events. “The President’s been shot!” she announced in an urgent voice. We crowded into her office and watched footage of the motorcade rushing away. We heard that he was on his way to Parkland Hospital. As terrible as this news was, it never occurred to me that he would not be all right. I remember hoping he was not too seriously hurt.  I was concerned about Vice President Johnson, a Texan with San Marcos ties, and Governor Connolly. At that point we knew more than one person had been shot but not who was hurt and who was not.  After a few minutes we resumed activities. More girls came in for their mums and other office business continued. The secretary stayed in her office and other adults came and went, waiting for updates. For us kids, no news was good news and we were glad to have something to do that kept us near the source of the news but not in the middle.

I’m not sure how much time went by, but it was probably around noon when the news of the shooting first reached our school.  As minutes went by with no more news, I continued telling myself that reassuring news would reach us soon. It was probably around an hour later, or a little less, when we all heard the secretary burst into tears. Now we knew. Our President was dead. Things came to a sudden halt. My friends and I were sent back to class. I seem to remember going to homeroom. Our principal made the announcement to the whole school and gasps and cries could be heard up and down the halls. Everyone was stunned. This was without precedent. No national crisis of this magnitude had happened in my lifetime. I think we knew that our teachers didn’t know what to do either.  Pretty much we all reacted with stunned silence. After a short time another announcement was made. School was dismissed for the day. Buses would come for those who were riders. The rest of us were advised to go home and be with our families. As for the Homecoming festivities, all that was canceled. The game would go on that night, but there would be no dance. Not that we wanted festivities at this juncture.

The advice to be with our families resonated with me. I wanted my mother. I got a ride to Campus Elementary where Mom taught first grade. Of course when I got there I realized that their school was not going to be dismissed early. In fact I don’t think the children were told that anything was amiss. Only high schoolers were sent home early. Mom came to the door to give me a hug but sent me on my way. She told me to go to Dad’s office and she would be there as soon as possible. Walking down Guadalupe Street to Dad’s office I realized I was scared as well as sad. My first thought was that we must be going to war! I remember walking down the hill and looking at the stately old Johnson house with its still green lawn and tennis courts. All this could be destroyed, I thought. It wasn’t that long ago when Nikita Khrushchev banged his shoe on the rostrum at the United Nations. It was finally happen after those duck and cover drills and scare talk. War was coming to us right here in the USA.

That night we glumly turned out for the football game. I think we played Gonzales, a nearby town that was at the time about the size of San Marcos. I do remember that we lost by a large margin. During the game the band was instructed not to play. The only music allowed was the Star Spangled Banner and our respective school songs.  No fight song, which seemed fine. Our team wasn’t fighting very hard anyway, it seemed. Those of us in drill team sat in the stands and shivered. The only nod to Homecoming was that, oddly, they went ahead and announced the Homecoming Queen. It was Betty Lou Creekmore and I did feel a surge of happiness for my good friend. After the game my boyfriend and I ended up at my house. We were both sad and dispirited. I confided my fears and he tried to reassure me.

The weekend was a blur. On Saturday morning I joined my friends in taking down the decorations in the gym. Being kids, we wondered if there would be some sort of event to make up for us missing out on our senior homecoming and having to tear down the New York Skyline that we had made from cardboard and paint, the crepe paper, the balloons, and all the other frivolities.  Sunday morning we turned out for services at First Baptist Church. It was a gray, cloudy day for a somber message. I walked into our den through the back door ahead of my folks and reflexively turned on the TV, which we’d had on nonstop since Friday. The next thing that happened was astounding. Just as I turned on the set, I saw the crowd of lawmen in the basement of the Dallas County Jail, and there was Lee Harvey Oswald coming out of an elevator with men on either side. As I watched, I heard the shot and saw Oswald double over. He’d been shot and I had just seen the incident right before my eyes! Mom and Dad were still gathering their things and getting out of the car. I breathlessly spilled out the news. This was too much! How could such a thing happen? I began to feel afraid all over again. How could so many terrible things happen in just three days?

Time would ease my fears about a threat from Russia. Like a lot of people I wanted to believe this was just the act of one hate-filled man. I know my parents stressed that. Mom was always one to look ahead and not dwell on things too much I learned not to speculate in her presence. Now, after all these years, I don’t feel like I know much more about what really happened that day than I did back then. The second killing after the assassination just seemed too much of a coincidence for me to swallow, even as a kid. But in recent years I’ve adopted Mom’s attitude. I don’t dwell on it.

EPILOGUE

This fall my classmates and I marked our fifty-year reunion. The event is for graduates of all years and ages, and held in the local conference center. It was a chance for me to see old friends from my class and other classes too. I saw people I had not seen for all those years.  Thanks to Ruben Ruiz’s organizational prowess, it was a memorable event. Toward the end of the program, the band played a song just for our class, and we all went out on the floor and danced. This was our Homecoming Dance after all those years. It felt good.

As an aside, I know there were news stories of school children cheering at the news of Kennedy’s shooting. There was nothing but deepest mourning in my community and, I believe, throughout the state. It took Dallas a long time to get past this terrible event. At this time of great polarization in our country, even more pronounced than back then in my estimation, I hope people of good will can work together to create a climate of tolerance and acceptance, both in our state and in our country.